bridge

it’s the little things

December 19, 2018 by Beth 1 Comment

We moved. We said goodbye to our 1-room studio apartment and hello to our 3-floor house in Long Bien. At 5 km away from Hanoi, it’s close to what we know and love, but far enough away to enjoy a different daily pace.

Front of house.
Back patio
Command central.
Top floor clothesline and garden.
Fire with scavenged wood.

Bonus. It means we get to drive across the beloved Long Bien Bridge a LOT. This bridge is unique and I love crossing that 2 km span every single time. The driving surface is raggedy and rustic, pebbled with holes and bumps, and the other drivers on the bridge are on their cell phones, basking in the breeze from the river below or just taking in the scenery. The braver tourists jam the lanes, their cameras and mouths agape, and the locals take photos while balancing on the center train line. I love it. It makes me feel alive.

But this isn’t about the beloved bridge. It’s about food. MY food.

How grateful I am for some recent little discoveries about food. And I wanted to share. Because maybe you’ll have a discovery that will make a difference.

I’ve always wrestled with autoimmune issues and have been using food to negotiate how my body feels and to heal, with great results. It’s easy to accomplish this in the US. But here in Hanoi it’s harder to do. So I have days (weeks) with flares and down time, which I have accepted as the price I pay to live here. But guess what? Now with a kitchen that has an oven and a gasp conduction cook top, I can cook. Compliant ingredients were the next step.

I’m sharing my recent finds.

I’ve discovered a source for beef marrow-filled bones. With free delivery. Huzza. Bone broth. Roasted marrow. With Himalayan pink salt. My personal nirvana. We also found some good, local pork shoulders, Doug’s favorite. Because…OVEN!

Bone broth made with roasted beef bones looks like heaven to me.

I found the AfroMiniMart [closet] that sells pure cassava and plantain flours, with no additives. Double squeal. Tortillas. Crackers. Breaded anything and everything. Seriously, I can’t tell you how thrilling it is to add these ingredients to my pantry.

Pure cassava flour.
First attempt at hand-smashed cassava tortillas.
Pure plantain flour.

Next. Coconut milk yogurt. This is a daily staple, when possible. I bought a simple yogurt maker (identical to my TIOLI acquired maker on Lopez) that makes perfect yogurt with the vegan cultures carried over from the USA. After many different market visits, we found pure coconut milk with no additives. Success.

Good fat. Good milk. Good thing I like coconut.

I can get plenty of pure coconut oil here. For variety, we found real olive oil at the “gourmet” store. It’s good but definitely comes with a gourmet price. The stock continually changes and I wonder how some of the product found it’s way there. Like Costco’s Kirkland brand. How did it get there?

Dates. Another gourmet item. You know how much I love to sauté dates and add sea salt. MMMNNNnnnnnn.

One more staple is this gorgeous honey. Honey and dates are my 2 sugar sources. For some reason, the markets are flooded with pasteurized honey. Raw honey is tricky to locate. This one is wonderful.

It may seem like I’m complaining about being here. Nope. I love it here. But I also love feeling good. So why am I telling you this? If you’ve ever felt under the weather for a long time, then it changes and suddenly it feels like the clouds have lifted, the sky is blue, angels are singing–then you know how fantastic it can be. Daily life takes a lot of energy. I like to be present. Doing things. Not stumbling around, tired, feeling crappy. Finding these little things makes an enormous difference and lets my body rest and heal. So that I have more leeway to sample ALL the other interesting food here in Asia.

Here’s hoping you discover little things that make equally large differences. That is my holiday wish for you!

seasonal changes

December 18, 2018 by Beth Leave a Comment

You may think it is unendingly hot and humid here. We did, when we were first considering Vietnam. Turns out that describes the typical monsoon climate of southern VN, not here in the north. Hanoi is on the 21st parallel north.

Sure, we have seasons here. Two of them. The hot, muggy, rainy summer season has just ended and we’re entering the cold, gray, dry winter season.

The change in the weather unleashes so many feelings for us. Maybe we need the seasonal changes as much as nature does. Worldwide, people react to these changes. A slight temperature dip brings about a wardrobe change, some recipe changes and more noticeably, a joy. People seem happy. Is this universal? Cooler temperatures roll around. The aroma of fallen leaves, the fresh, clean air is the scent of earth revitalized. Time to reflect, recharge and reconnect. It is here.

I am not talking about the current apocalyptic, catastrophic life-ending climatactic changes and the ensuing joy-less depression.

It was a lovely summer on Lopez Island, way up on the 48th parallel N. Glorious. Laid back. Quick. A minor amount was accomplished constructing the Lopez studio and a major amount conquered in the eating kale department. How would we survive without Horse Drawn Farm? This farm, half-way between the ferry terminal and our place, grows voluptuous, beautiful produce. If you had visited, you’d know about the beauty of the produce and how lucky we are that they farm on the island, because we’d have dragged you to their farm stand.

Bounty of tomatoes and eggplants. — Nightshade section at the self-serve Horse Drawn Farm stand.

Doug bought a real motorcycle after getting his endorsement.

Visits and visiting happened. We love and miss our family and friends.

Amy and Maggi, thanks for road-trippin’ all the way up.

Reunion with life-long friends in Hackensack, MN.

When it was just the two of us we worked on the studio.

Nailing the last row of shingles, one end.
Nailing the last row from the other end.

Beth won the door paint rivalry. Purple.

It was a lean crabbing season, in part due to the combination of cool weather, that small hole in the boat, and a non-aligning tide schedule. Boat-dragging at low tide stinks. But not the view. It does NOT stink.

Our one good catch was 9 enormous male Dungeness.
Impromptu crab-fest. And Doug’s renown cabbage slaw.

Our half-acre is home to about 30 Douglas fir trees, ranging in age from 20 to 100 years old. Some struggle with a slow-growing brown root rot. Over time, we’ve been watching 7 old, infected trees that were dying. They’d been weakened to the point that a big wind storm would drop them on our living quarters. We had to deal with them. Translated, that means we had them chopped down into 12 foot sections. Then we bucked, rolled and stacked the rounds to dry for the year. Lumberjacking. Big fun. Right, Grands?

Log rolling. Wall building. For drying wood, not keeping others out.

Being back in Hanoi feels like home. Since our return, we searched for and found a house that doubles as a violin building studio. With guest rooms. Score–the kitchen is big AND has an oven. We released the hope that we’d find a garden-able yard. But we do have patios front, back and up high on the top-level with lots of big plants, vegetables, herbs and other growing things that definitely count as garden type materials.

We’ve unpacked this truckload and and have spread our junk out among 3 floors.

We are acquainting ourselves with this new area east of Hanoi. Tourists stick to the other side of the river. It means we get to stretch ourselves to communicate entirely in Vietnamese. And pantomime. Our handiest lifesaver is a smart-phone photo. A picture is definitely worth a thousand [mispronounced] words.

Where to buy food is always at the top of our to-do list. Our prior apartment was a short walk to a large wet market, with fresh vegetables, fruits, meats and more, available every day, sold without excess packaging or folderol whatsoever. Here in Long Bien, we’re on the prowl for something similar. So far we’ve seen some scattered dinnertime sidewalk vendors and a few obnoxiously large Vinmart stores, located in the lower levels of the scattered high-rise apartments that dot this side of the river. We’ve been in them. Too much walmart-y stuff, not enough fresh, local food. Not our thing.

We drive across the car-free Long Bien bridge often. Motorbike lanes flank both sides of the center railroad tracks on this 2 km span of the Red River.

We continue to walk around, exploring and partaking in the liveliness of everyday life here. Some photos I refuse to snap because doing so would be rude, so let me describe 2 colorful moments from today. An elderly woman in her 80s is seated on a short plastic stool on the sidewalk, at her family’s tea stand. Elegant. Enviable posture. Long gray hair beautifully wound up, snug with a carved hair clasp. Hands folded, in her lap. Watching us walk by, she smiles and waves. With both feet immersed in a large, worn, red plastic bucket, soaking. (Later, learn there’s fresh ginger in hot water.) Next picture this. A man in his 70s, regal and poised, slowly pedals his ancient-looking upright bicycle, also with impeccable posture. Wearing a dapper fedora hat probably from the 50’s. And well-worn cotton pajamas. We smile at each other and nod hello. We’re all the same underneath whatever clothes are on the outside. Human. Fueled by connections.

We’ve noticed a few down jackets appearing, a precursor for the cold front barreling down from China. The temperature is falling daily. Winter has officially arrived. Hopefully not for long.

Come visit! Not only is there a phở nhà hàng (diner) right next door, our new ‘hood has a horse.

The horse across the street in our neighborhood. Bureau of grass control.

Day Trippin’

November 8, 2017 by Beth 2 Comments

We like to explore Hanoi and the surrounding villages, especially now that we have 2 motorbikes. Yes, Doug bought a used bike and I rent one. A quick jaunt around town and the breeze can lower your temperature faster than you can say whenthehellwillmypersonalthermostatworkagainmaybeweshouldmovetoiceland.

It’s hot. Hote. Heh.

Recently we signed up for a guided ride as a fundraiser for a local organization that helps foster young girls, called Blossom House, part of Humanitarian Services For Children in Vietnam. It’s a good cause, and we would be escorted to places we might not find on our own. We took off with 20 others, and within 10 minutes, Doug and I were on our own, separated from the group. It’s funny; months before we moved to Vietnam I had a recurring dream. It stemmed from reading about the traffic here, that you enter the stream of motorbikes and swim along like a school of fish; these dreams always devolved to being trapped in the flow, getting parted from each other and not being able to stop or find each other for years (YEARS) because we were unable to exit the flow.

Can you say déjà vu?

We were headed down the highway in a giant glob of motorbikes and cars, aiming for the Nhật Tân Bridge, fondly called the New Bridge because it was finished 2 years ago and links Hanoi to the airport. We’ve never driven motorbikes onto this bridge before.

Turns out the onramp from the road we were on is a left turn, not a right turn. I got stuck in the right side of the mob and couldn’t maneuver over to the left. Swimming. There was a left-turn light for the onramp to the bridge (yay!) but alas, no way to get to it from the right side without cutting across 3 packed lanes of swift-moving traffic which never had to stop because that part of the road continues straight through. I finally did it (oh boy you should’ve heard the horns honking at me) and there was Doug waiting on the bridge for me. Swoon.

The Nhật Tân Bridge feels enormous.

This bridge is 2.5 miles long. After a thrilling, noisy ride across, we realized we had no idea where to turn, and no one was in sight from the group.

Luckily, we had a general idea of where we would rendezvous for lunch, so we spent the morning exploring the villages and their temples along the one-lane rural road. The road is similar to Seattle’s Burke Gilman bike trail except with cows, water buffalo, chickens and goats meandering along the way.

A few hours later, we found the Lại Đà Temple and waited for the group to appear. An enormous wedding surrounded it so the wait was fun. It’s impolite here to take people-photos without their permission, so you’ll have to believe us when we say it was loud, lively and beautifully colorful.

The Lại Đà Temple is in the center of the village.

Carved dragons adorn each corner. The corners are up-turned to deflect evil spirits.

The back door to one of the buildings in the Pagoda complex.

The group finally arrived and we all enjoyed this delicious vegetarian lunch at the temple, prepared by the buddhist nuns and monks. Tempura seaweed-wrapped mushrooms, tofu spring rolls (fried and fresh), young bamboo shoot soup, noodle salads, mung bean rice, and lots more. My favorite condiment was a thinly sliced root, fried and spiced, that looked like beef jerky, to sprinkle on everything.

Our lunch sampler.

Afterwards we all cleaned up and went our separate ways. Our goal of getting out and exploring was a success.

We passed this mural project, about a mile from our house, on the railway wall. This wall surrounds portions of the Old Quarter. The artist is holding a paper drawing as her painting guide.

Mural painting on the elevated train track wall.

Coffee shop sunset, with a fishing pole attached to the railing.

A simple dinner of fried rice, caramelized pork and garlic sautéed water spinach at neighboring Mậu Dịch.

Not a bad mistake

February 26, 2017 by Beth 3 Comments

Doug and I have a meme. It originated from a recording we love, found on a 1940 Smithsonian Folkways compilation, of a young jump-roper named Ora Dell Graham, singing rhymes as she jumps. If one of us does something wrong? Maybe even a little stupid? Accidental mistake? I milked that sow. Pullin’ the skiff.

I made a mistake the other night and milked that sow.

My tutoring job was done for the night and I was headed home on the #1 bus, a new bus to me. I had an idea of the route but the Hanoi Bus website isn’t updated, so was missing actual validation. My Vietnamese isn’t good enough to converse about such details with the ticket collector. I can ask the questions, but I can’t completely understand the answers. (All part of the adventure, yes?) I wasn’t worried. I knew the general vicinity to disembark so that my walk home would be reasonable, keeping in mind that it was after 10pm and it was dark. Midnight curfew isn’t enforced anymore, but this part of Hanoi is certainly quiet at night. I watched the penultimate stop come and go, feeling confidant that the next one was it. The bus took an odd turn, but hey, the streets are a little convoluted and overlapping with ramps and overpasses at that spot. I convinced myself we were making a loop in the twisty section and would double back and I’d get off at the next stop. I’d seen other buses do just that.

The curve turned into an extended on-ramp to a long modern bridge that spans the Red River, east of Hanoi. This is when the song turned on in my head. I made a mistake.

At this point, still on the bus were one other rider, the ticket collector and the driver. I tried to text Doug but my data was apparently out (I knew I should’ve topped off my sim card earlier but I relish living on the edge). I called instead and got a sketchy connection, but did let him know I was taking the scenic route home and would be late…then got disconnected before I could provide any actual details.

I could’ve got off when the last rider disembarked but it was dark and I didn’t see anything on the other side of the street that looked promising. Then the ticket collector got off. Oh boy. By default, I had decided to ride to the end, subliminally curious to see where I would end up, quietly hoping the bus would turn around and retrace its route back into the city. After riding for what definitely felt longer than it was, studiously noticing the turns as I stared outside in case I had to walk back, we left the mixed residential and commercial areas, then made an abrupt turn into a big, dark parking lot next to a big, dark industrial looking building. The driver yelled something at me and swished open the door. I de-bussed and I swear, he zoomed away particularly fast, although it probably was just regular departure speed.

At least it wasn’t raining.

I stood there in the dark thinking about how I love the unpredictable-ness of life, felt bad that I had been a little cavalier when I had called Doug because he was probably worrying and didn’t have any way to actually find me, and then laughing because in one hour’s time I was in a really different place than I thought I’d be.

I heard the motorcycles before I could see them. Xe oms. Motorcycle taxis. Usually old dudes. I’ve used them before, and it was never dull. So…yay! I wouldn’t have to walk home. With xe om drivers, I knew it was important to get a good breath-whiff so that the ride can be declined if the driver is alcohol-infused. I started a conversation with one guy, while other curious drivers drove up and joined in the conversation. I said my address, he mumbled a price, I negotiated, he didn’t say yes, just ok, ok, ok which I’ve learned to mean let’s go and we’ll renegotiate later when we get to where you want to go. He’s already on his bike, ready to go. Nope. I’ve learned to be clear upfront about both the location and the money, resulting in a more direct exchange all around. I’m feeling rushed. I decide to slow it down. I try to talk (all in Vietnamese) to the little crowd that’s formed. They want to know how I ended up there. How old was I? Where from? Why? What do I do? The usual questions that I’ve learned the answers to. My phone doesn’t work but I do pull up an iBook map detail of Trúc Bạch (thanks, Carol, for showing me that iBook is useful). Oh…ok, ok, ok. Someone reviews with the driver exactly where that is, then helps me get him to agree on a fair price to get there. Ah…ok, ok, ok. It’s a long way back over the river on the big bridge, which at this time of night means no return customer for the driver.

Ok. Fare is communicated, agreed upon, reassured by eye contact and smiles, all is well. One more thing, my arm still doesn’t bend enough to put on my helmet and I need help. I tell them about my accident (mostly in pantomime and a few key words) and then ask the driver to buckle my helmet. This requires touching…even more than the usual joked-about full-body-hugging hoped for by some xe om drivers. Xe om, after all, means motorbike hug.

I’m buckled, loaded, my backpack is adjusted, the other drivers wave and say goodbye like we’re all old friends. Off we go. It’s exhilarating, actually. Except for the fact that I have no idea who this guy is and seriously, I’m totally 100% at his mercy. My arms are holding tight around his wide waist, his pockets wadded up in my fists for something to hold on to. No one else is around, the streets here are deserted and I am obviously unfamiliar with the area. But…nah. This is one reason why I love it here. I feel safe.

We’re driving on streets that the bus definitely did not take. He is chattering away in the wind and I’m sorry I can’t understand much of what his deep voice is saying. We take a little off-road short cut (what?!) and suddenly, we’re on a bridge. Not the modern 4-lane bridge I came over on. This is old. Vintage construct. It smells wooden. We slow way down.

I probably squeal with surprise and delight. He grins. The center of the bridge is train tracks with the side lanes used for motorbikes and shared with pedestrians. No cars. There are late-night workers who actually drop below the span when the trains speed by. And it’s alive with people and movement. It’s like a festival. Couples are sitting on burlap-sack blankets, dangling their legs over the sides, groups of friends are laughing, talking, and eating grilled corn and drinking hot tea from the food carts.

This, I find out later, is the Long Biên Bridge. It is believed that the bridge was designed by Gustave Eiffel, the man behind Eiffel Tower and Statue of Liberty during the French occupation, then built by the Vietnamese using local wood, lime and concrete in 1889-1902. It was bombed many times in 1967 and 1972 during the American War, and always put back together. It is a symbol of rebellion, strength and resilience.

The driver was obviously happy to have shared this bridge with me. We got to the end of the span and we came out in a place I recognized. I named it for him and he smiled, đúng. Correct. We reached the apartment in about 15 more minutes; Doug was sitting on the balcony, watching, and came down. Hands were shook, I got out my dong to pay and tried to say keep the change. But no way, he wouldn’t. An agreement is an agreement and tipping is not part of the culture here. The ride cost 3$.

Since that night, I’ve read a lot about the Long Biên Bridge. Today Doug and I went during the day to see it again. It is indeed falling apart. I hope preservation is in its future. There really is nothing like it.

There’s Doug, walking westward, way in the distance.

Here’s looking south at the other, modern bridge. The land (called Middle Island) and water underneath this bridge has become the home of Hanoi’s destitute. Makeshift homes and shelters are appearing as people get pushed out of the city as the economy burgeons. There is also a thriving nude beach area for health conscious locals, who bicycle down to swim, relax, meditate and practice yoga.

One of the pig (or boar) farms under the bridge. See the little one nestled between the 2 center sleepers?

I had hoped to get a shot when the train went by, but maybe it was better to miss that. Just walking on the bridge was a little unnerving due to the constant vibrations, shaking and big gaps and cracks in the concrete pavers.

Discovering the bridge at night, the way I did, was the perfect introduction. A little mistake that turned out not too bad after all.

(These videos are visible only if you view the post from the website, not from the emailed version.)

Doug on the Long Biên Bridge

Drone fly-over of Long Biên Bridge

Pullin’ the Skiff by Ora Dell Graham

Ethno – Tourism

April 13, 2016 by Beth 1 Comment

If you visit Vietnam, you will be told to visit SaPa. To see the endless natural beauty, to rejuvenate yourself via the fresh air, to hike through the local villages, experience the sounds and smells of this unique landscape, and to explore new cultures. Of Vietnam’s 54 ethnic minority groups, there are 9 in this area alone. This breath-taking mountainous area 380 km northwest of Hanoi is near the Chinese border, and can now be accessed by the newly completed toll-highway. 6 hours of driving. 1600 m (5250 ft) high. The SaPa District has about 55,000 people; over 50% Hmong, 25% Dao, and 10% Viet Kinh (lowland Vietnamese), the balance Tay, Giay, Thai, Muong, Hua and Xa Pho.

Brochure sunrise photo (above) of the terraced rice fields. Starting in May, there is only one rice crop planted per year due to the high elevation weather conditions. As early as possible, seeds are sewn in the lowest beds, then when the weather is warmer and the upper beds have been prepared and flooded, the seedlings are transplanted.

Second brochure photo (below) taken in early summer, of a mother and daughter (Black Hmong) walking and working along the growing rice. We’re told these fields are brilliant shades of yellow and green beginning in July, until the harvest which starts in September. We are hoping to visit again the end of August. Join us.

The true original inhabitants are unknown, but left rock carvings thousands of years old. Over time, land has been illegally taken, villages bombed, indigenous peoples forced out, and repeatedly resettled by invaders. From the 1920s-1950s the French built villas and used the area as a hill-station, which is a resort area in the mountains created specifically to escape the seasonal lowland heat. After they were ousted, many ethnic minority tribes returned from China, Laos and Thailand, using SaPa as a meeting and market location. Sa means sand, pa means village so SaPa loosely translates as the place to trade goods and services. Agricultural collectives were offered in the 1970s-1980s by the government. After that, collectives were scaled back, perennial crops were encouraged and land rights were doled out. In 1993 the first foreign tourists (since the French overthrow) were allowed up there.

In February, we had the chance to hitch a ride up with an agency car that was going to SaPa to fetch clients, and we wanted to get out of dodge. The landscape became rural as soon as we left Hanoi. It was misty and overcast, strikingly, like the Pacific NW. Except for the rice fields, the water buffalo and the palm trees. These low-land rice fields were recently flooded and readied for seedling transplants, the first of 3 annual rotations. Here’s the scene from the car outside of Hanoi. When we came back through here the following week, all the fields had been planted.

The final 60 kms from Lao Cai to SaPa is narrow, twisty and congested. Crazy commute to school.

SaPa bustles. Hotels, restaurants, schools, banks, bakeries, North Face outfitters, massagers, trekking companies, hardware stores, auto shops. You name it. The trick is to try and find what’s locally owned. Responsible tourism can be hard work but is essential.

Our morning phổ restaurant in SaPa.

Local Red Dao women, our talking companions on the edge of SaPa.

Near Lai Chao. See the 2 people walking up the terraced hill?

Mama Lili, a trekking guide and homestay provider, with her phone number. We are the same age. We shared stories and entertained each other using pantomime, truncated English, and Hmong. Ua tsaug (wa chow) means thank-you.

The villages are all connected by hiking trails. Passes are purchased before entering the villages. The foot bridge in the center was built by a neighboring Dao family. They charge 5,000 VND per person (US 25 cents) to use it. When it’s warm enough, locals avoid the fee and wade across instead.

Take the time to hire a local guide and directly support the local economy. We were lucky to connect with Zu, the best guide ever (on the left). She spent the day with us, made us lunch at her house, and answered (and asked) more questions than you can imagine. She is Black Hmong, and lives in Seo Mi Ty, her husband’s village. While taking a break, we ran into her sister, who lives in a different village and was passing through.

This is Doug’s hiking helper, Mai. We all had someone to help us navigate through the mud and over the steep terraces.

Family photo. Jenny and Steve came to visit from Seattle!

Ubiquitous water buffalo.

We had lunch at Zu’s home. Yes, that’s a sharp machete and a (skilled) 5-year-old.

Corn grinder at Zu’s house. She says they grind corn every day.

Jenny gets a corn grinding lesson from Zu.

(This video is visible only if you view the post from the website, not from the emailed version.)

Here come the kids, running up the path and yelling something we never figured out.

Animals roam the villages.

The pig pack followed us for a while.

Surprise meeting on the road with friends we had met the previous day in town, 20 km away. Ma is due in one month, and explained how her husband will help deliver the baby. It was hard to say goodbye.

Ma’s village, down the hill and up the ridge.

Congestion at an intersection outside the village of Lai Chau.

Bamboo and ankles.

Bottle section of a barn wall in Ta Van.

The mountains outside SaPa were cloud-covered and hidden except for this brief moment.

Making a note of the hotel in the foreground to check the prices. EcoPalms Hotel. $115 US/night.

Ối Giời Ơi ! Expensive. Still trying to find out who owns it and where the money goes.

I would love to live and work here. These state schools are all painted yellow. Why?

I spy water buffalo grazing, slash pile burning, brush clearing by hand, and a horse.

Watching, as we walked by a Flower Hmong village, outside Bac Ha.

30 minute walk north of Bac Ha.

Buy from me! Seriously, we could’ve talked for hours with these 2 young women.

Her mother told us about this sweet baby’s ear piercing ceremony at birth.

Mooo.

Something is in the air.

SaPa and the surrounding area is magical. And complicated. Responsible tourism is hard to recognize here. It’s a free-for-all. The new road will bring even more people, expanding the impact with no end in sight. Of course there is a move towards reviewing current social and economic development plans but there are so many conflicting factors and obstacles. New construction is booming and there’s even a cable-car to the top of Fansipan Mt, above SaPa, that just opened in February. It’s imperative that growth occurs in conjunction and cooperation with the local people, so that their rights, customs and privacy can be maintained and not exploited and their livelihood be preserved. SaPa O’Chao is a social enterprise organization that I hope to spend some time with in the future, and I’m looking for others. We’ll keep you posted.

Hunger makes a great sauce, quotes Doug, religiously.

Sa Pa The Beauty That Has Turned Beast

Here’s a blog with descriptions and photos of the different tribes in the North part of Vietnam.

here we are in...

Vietlandia